


Make Me Fly

by allamchick



Series: Marlas: The Relationship A to Z [2]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allamchick/pseuds/allamchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's obsession with flying may have roots in ancient Italy. Could his ancestor have been the one to help Leonardo daVinci develop his flying machine?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me Fly

The Camden Markets were crowded that day. Of course, being Sunday, that was no surprise. It was Martin's desire to shop there, and Douglas found he could not refuse any request Martin made of him.

Especially when he asked during sex.

And that morning was no exception. After Martin rode Douglas to a bone-melting orgasm, he gasped out his request immediately. He hadn't even reached his own climax, so eager was he for an answer. Douglas slipped free of Martin, laid him down on the bed, and wrapped his large hand around Martin's erection, palm filled with a generous dollop of lube.

"Of course, darling. We can go to the markets. Anything you want. Now, come for me. You're so close, just let go."

Martin writhed under Douglas' ministrations. It didn't take long once Douglas slid his finger inside Martin and grazed his prostate.

"Make me fly, Douglas!" he gasped as he came. "Oh, God, make me fly!"

"That's it, darling. There you are. Look at you, coming so hard for me. My God, you're beautiful!"

Martin's orgasm was so intense he trembled through the aftershocks. Douglas rubbed a comforting hand along his chest.

"Breathe, Martin. Slow, even breaths. Just relax, darling."

After a few moments, Martin's breathing evened out and Douglas placed a soft, reverent kiss on his parted lips. Martin rolled onto his side and Douglas spooned from behind. It was their favorite post-coital position.

"Marry me?" Douglas asked with a light chuckle and a gentle squeeze.

"Love to. How about the end of June?"

"Oh, I think I can just about manage that, sir. Has the catering hall confirmed our date?"

Martin hummed under his breath. "All ready for us."

"Good. Very good. Say, why did you yell, 'make me fly'?" Douglas asked, gently kissing Martin's shoulder.

"Coming feels like flying. At least to me. The release. The feeling of floating. No sounds, no thoughts. Just feeling. It feels like flying."

"I never thought of it that way," Douglas mused. "But you're right."

"I am? I'm right about something?"

Douglas nipped Martin's neck. "You are right about a surprising number of things, sir. Including having sex this morning. It was exquisite."

Martin basked in the compliment, just starting to nod off when Douglas spoke again.

"What do you want at the markets?"

"Stuff," Martin slurred, sleep approaching rapidly.

Douglas knew better than to expect an answer from a sleepy Martin. In fact, it wasn't until later, at the markets, that Martin revealed his purpose.

"I want some books, and the markets have the best prices. Look!" He pointed toward a stall advertising two-for-one used books. "See? I told you! Best place to come for books."

"Martin, we could have gone to the bookseller near home. It's filled with glorious, _new_ books. And it has a coffee shop."

"That's why I didn't tell you what I wanted. I knew you'd try to talk me out of it. The books are three times the price at that place, all because of the coffee shop. They have to maintain their overhead."

"We can afford it."

"It's a waste. This is much more economical. And besides," Martin took Douglas' hand, "there are loads of people here who have never seen us together. I want everyone to know how lucky I am."

He kissed Douglas softly on the cheek. A young woman passing by smiled and gave a thumbs up.

"Yes, yes, alright," Douglas growled, and Martin knew it was in good fun. "I can't resist you. What magic have you wielded over me, my captain? Let's go get your books."

The woman running the stall sussed them immediately.

"How long have you two been together?" she asked, smiling.

"About three months," Martin replied. "We got engaged last week."

"How wonderful! I wish you all the best. Now, the books are two-for-one, but for engaged couples, we have a special. Four-for-one, and I'll throw in this cloth bag for easy carrying."

"Thank you! That means we can each choose two. See? I told you, Douglas."

"Yes, you did. Another thing about which you were correct, sir. That makes three today."

"But I shouldn't let it go to my head, right?" Martin squeezed Douglas' hand.

"That makes four. I'd better hurry up and choose before you beat my record. What books look good today?"

Even Douglas had to admit there was a choice selection. Martin chose a book about Leonardo daVinci and one about the new Boeings. Douglas chose a Dickens he didn't have and a book about the making of Les Miserables.

"What a bit of luck," he said with a smile. "My favorite musical. The inaugural run was in London you know, 1985. Brilliant opening night."

"But you disliked the singer who played Jean Valjean."

Douglas thought a moment. "Not so much disliked as disappointed in his performance. My brother said he sounded rather like a deflated bicycle horn. But the singer who played Javert, now he could sing! Bloody brilliant performer! His rendition of 'Stars' was breathtaking. Philip Quast had nothing on him. Neither does Russell Crowe."

Whose name, of course, he cackled like a baddie. Martin giggled.

"He does have an evil sounding name. I'm glad you found a book you fancy because I plan to spend tonight learning about Leonardo daVinci. Especially his flying machine. Oh, here's a bit of trivia. The Italians ate something called garum. It was made from fermented anchovies."

Douglas nodded. "The poured it on everything, like our brown sauce, or American ketchup. Speaking of which, are you hungry, darling? We passed a lovely fish and chip shop a few miles back."

"Famished. Your treat?"

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

They were out of garum, again.

Leo stared down at his plate and sighed. How could he eat his swordfish without garum? He would have to; it was the slave's holiday thanks to that idiot Servius Tullius simply being born and no one was around to fetch more. 

Except...

"Martinus!"

His apprentice, Martinus Vermilion, hurried to the court yard and bowed before his Master.

"Martinus, run to Lucius the Fishmonger and fetch more garum. And hurry, boy! I have quite the appetite this evening!"

"Yes, Master Leonardo."

Leo watched the boy run like the wind toward the gate. Martinus was turning out to be an accommodating apprentice. At 22, he was older than Leo's other boys but that didn't matter. Older meant more developed, both physically and mentally. Many a night, after a good, hard shag, Leo found he could discuss his newest invention ideas with the boy and he'd actually understand.

And he was ginger.

Leo's weakness.

In a country full of olive complexions, dark hair, and black eyes, Martinus' fair skin, red hair, and blue eyes set him apart. His coloring was courtesy of his mother's British genes, his height and musculature from his Italian father. And he belonged exclusively to Leonardo daVinci.

But the boy had an obsession Leo couldn't understand. Martinus was fascinated with birds. He could watch them all day if left to his own devices. Leo didn't see the attraction, dirty and smelly as birds were.

_Where was that boy already!_ Leo was hungry. One piece of bread wouldn't hurt. He tore off a chunk and dipped it in the garlic-scented olive oil that accompanied every meal. It was heaven.

Of course, when Martinus came in Leo's mouth, the salty-bitter taste of him was better than olive oil. Better than garum. Better even than the red wine Leo sipped to wash down the bread. _Hurry up, boy!_

Leo heard Martinus' familiar footfall in the outer courtyard.

_Ah, finally!_

"Master Leonardo, your garum," Martinus gasped between breaths. He really had been running. Leo took stock of his long, muscular legs and wind-swept curls and felt a stirring in his groin. But first, supper.

"Just the thing!" Leo poured half the contents of the little clay jar onto his fish and tucked in. "Have you eaten, Martinus?"

"Yes, sir. Shall I prepare your evening's experiment?"

Leo nodded, his mouth filled to bursting with swordfish and garum. A drizzle escaped the corner of his mouth and slid down his chin. Martinus handed him a cloth and strode off to the bedroom. 

Leo preferred to perform his experiments in his bedroom. Working on his inventions made him horny. He'd shag Martinus and then return to his work, only to ravage him again a few hours later. Martinus was fairly certain that was not how a normal apprenticeship worked, but he didn't mind. His Master Leonardo made sure he was well fed, well washed, and had a soft bed upon which he could collapse after a long evening transcribing notes or building contraptions. And Leonardo's mind was such that Martinus envied him his genius. Leonardo daVinci was brilliant. And he was teaching it all to Martinus. A bit of sex was a small price to pay.

And anyway, Martinus thoroughly enjoyed being fucked by his master.

As he assembled the bits and pieces that would become the experiment for the evening, Martinus heard a rustling in the corner of the room. A baby bird fluttered, trying its best to escape. But the effort was futile.

It was missing a wing.

Martinus tsked. "Poor thing. You can't fly with one wing. What shall I do with you?" He piled some towels on a table and laid the bird within their folds. But a few moments later, the baby bird died. Martinus took it, still in the towels, to bury in the back garden.

"You can't fly with one wing," he muttered to himself as he looked toward the mountain ridge abutting Leo's sprawling villa. As if on cue, a flock of birds swooped up from the ridge in a perfect V formation. "And humans can't fly at all. But if birds can do it with wings wrapped around their arms, maybe..."

A germ of an idea formed in his mind. He would have to share it with his master later. After sex. Leo was his for the plucking after a good, hard shag. 

 

_"So close...oh, please...master!"_

Martinus cried out his pleasure as he sat on Leo's cock, bouncing fiercely. They were on a chaise lounge Leo had designed specifically for the purpose of sex. Leo reclined on his back, the chair at just the right angle, as Martinus straddled his lap, feet planted firmly on the floor. When Martinus dropped down onto Leo's erection both men cried out from the sheer joy of the relief. Now, with his master buried deep inside him, grazing _that_ spot, Martinus could not remain silent. Or still. He leaned on Leo's shoulders and bounced quickly as his master stroked him to completion.

"Make me fly, Master Leo. Make me fly!"

Martinus came then, spurting his seed across Leo's hand onto his chest. Aftershocks shook him with force and Leo wrapped comforting hands around his waist, holding him still. Once Martinus had calmed, Leo held the boy's hips firmly in place. Martinus took this as the signal to brace solidly against Leo's shoulders as his master drove his cock up and into Martinus' luscious rear over and over, begging God for release. He cried out Martinus' name as he came deep within him. Ahhhhh, so good! Sex with his other apprentices had never been so fulfilling. Martinus was a treasure and Leo knew what he had in the boy. Sated, he groaned and sighed as he relaxed against the plump velvet pillows.

"Marvelous, my boy! As usual. Would you fetch a wet cloth for us?"

"Yes, Master Leo." Martinus rose, his master's softened cock sliding easily from within him, and walked to the bowl filled with water he had set aside beforehand. After dipping a cloth, he brought it to his master and wiped him down.

"What did you say as you came, my boy? You said something quite unique," Leo asked casually.

The question took Martinus by surprise. "Um, I...I don't know. Just...well...I mean...I was not really in possession of my faculties, master, so if I offended you..."

"No! That's not why I asked. It was...intriguing. Something about flying."

Martinus had just cleaned himself and was in the process of rinsing the cloth when he stopped.

"Flying?" he asked.

"Yes, my lad. You said, 'I'm going to fly' or "I want to fly'..."

"Make me fly," Martinus whispered.

"Eh? Speak up lad, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Make me fly, Master Leo. That's what I said. Make me fly."

"Ah, yes! Make me fly. Unusual thing to say as one is achieving orgasm. What made you say that?"

Martinus finished rinsing the cloth then sat on the chair with Leo. 

"I was hoping to speak with you about it, Master Leonardo. I have an idea. About flying."

*******************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It was Douglas' turn to wash the dishes. Martin sat at the kitchen table reading his book about the inventions of Leonardo daVinci. He was particularly interested in Leonardo's flying machine.

"Told you going to the markets was a good idea," he said again. Douglas counted that as the fifth time since they got home.

"Yes, you did. Well done, darling." 

Martin smiled and went back to his book.

"Douglas, it says here Leonardo didn't actually come up with the flying machine on his own."

"You don't say," Douglas replied, sliding the last dish into the drainer. "Who helped him?"

"It says here one of his apprentices gave him the idea. Apparently, the boy was obsessed with birds and flying. Here's a painting of him. His name was...Oh. Oh, Douglas..."

"What?" Douglas dried his hands and joined Martin at the table. "Are you alright? You've gone pale. Well, paler."

Martin handed Douglas the book, shock and disbelief vying for first place in his eyes.

"Martin! This...this looks like you! It's only a painting, of course, but it's unmistakable. His name was Martinus Vermilion. Martinus..."

Douglas looked up and saw that Martin was smiling.

"Derived from the name Martius, meaning of or like the god Mars," Martin said with pride. "Mars is the red planet. And his last name was Vermilion, which is the color red. And he was ginger."

"Do you think it's a relative of yours? Do any of the Crieff family ancestors come from Italy?"

"I remember my grandmother telling me that some of the old family were originally born in England but married into Italian families. Douglas, wouldn't it be wonderful if..."

"Let's not jump to conclusions. Just because Leonardo daVinci's apprentice was named Martinus, and looked like you, and was obsessed with flying..." Douglas stopped.

"You were saying?" Martin teased when he saw Douglas' jaw drop.

"Don't think this gets you out of doing dishes tomorrow night...Martinus."

**Author's Note:**

> The name Martinus was a real name in ancient Italy, just as Martin explains: Derived from the name Martius, meaning of or like the god Mars. Vermilion is another name for the color red. The slave holiday was real as well, declared by Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome, who was the child of a slave. Servorum Dies Festus was held every August 13th. Garum was also real and made from fermented anchovies.


End file.
